


we turn to your lovely face

by girlmarauders



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen, opera - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 08:10:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18988711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlmarauders/pseuds/girlmarauders
Summary: Although she had traveled some in her youth, and seen other places in the world, she had always come back to Night Vale. She was used to - no, comfortable with was better - questions.





	we turn to your lovely face

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Origin of Erika (as told by Josefina)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2681540) by [originally reads (originally)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/originally/pseuds/originally%20reads), [somnolentblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/somnolentblue/pseuds/somnolentblue). 



There were carpenter bees in the frame of Josie’s house, and they talked to her.

“Oh, for god’s sake,” she said, one morning, when the noise of them woke her up. “Can’t you let an old woman sleep?”

The bees only got louder, and she sighed and levered herself out of bed, turning to put her legs over the side. Her bones creaked audibly. When had she got so old? It had seemed to happen without her noticing, just the days all the same as before, each one preceding after the other until suddenly she had looked up, the edge of town had retreated from the house she had lived in her whole life, and her hair was grey, and her bones creaked when she moved. Well, at least she had help around the house, which was more than some women her age could say.

She paused to take a deep breath, and the bees in the window frame buzzed at her accusingly.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” she said, and stood, shuffling into her house slippers. She slept in a long nighty - unlike some people she still had ideas about propriety - and slipped on her housecoat before she went down the hall and to the porch. The bees usually knew when something was happening.

The Black One was on her porch, holding a chair leg. She looked at him through the screen door, one hand still holding his housecoat close.

“What are you up to now son?” she said, a little chidingly. She’d told Him to stop trying to help with the furniture when neither her nor Erika were around to supervise. Slowly, an aria built up to pitch in her mind, the high notes dancing slowly across the scale.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Put the wood ‘round the back,” she said. “I’ll use it for scrap. I’ve got biscuits from yesterday, I’ll box some up.”

The Black One nodded, and slowly gathered up the parts of the chair that had once sat on Josie’s porch and wobbled. She closed the door when she saw Him step off the porch and head around the side of the house. At least it wasn’t a chair she would miss.

Erika was in the kitchen. She couldn’t see them, obviously, but many years of cohabitation had sharpened Josie’s senses to a fine point, like a well-worn knife, passed down through generations, or the wooden chopping board her mother had given her, the sides of it worn smooth and perfect by many years of use. The biscuits had kept in the oven, a little crunchy on the outside maybe, but still doughy and good. She wrapped a few of them in brown paper, and turned to the counter to find the rest in a pile, wrapped neatly.

“Thank you Erika,” she said, and from the doorway she heard the rise of a baritone aria, surprising her into a quick laugh. She liked that one. A funny one today.

She propped the back door open with the cinder block she kept out the back. It had proved useful when that annoying fly salesman with the ugly jacket had been hanging around town. Erika had used the stone to protect the house, and make the man leave. Josie hadn’t wanted to buy any horrible flies from him anyway. The Black One was waiting sheepishly in the backyard, having neatly stacked the scrap wood against the house. She’d have to get Erika to move it later, it was a spider trap like that, and she didn’t want any critters getting under the house.

“Come in sweetheart,” she said, and turned back into the kitchen. In the cupboard under the sink, she had to dig past the coffee can of holy salt, and a large bottle of baptismal water to find the bag of bags. There was a thin white plastic bag near the top, and she pulled it out, shaking it out one-handed to fill it with air and open it up.

“Here you go, these’ll do you,” she said, using her other hand to put the biscuits in the bag one by one. “These’ll do you, won’t they?”

Some opera agreed politely, and she smiled.

“Very nice,” she said, and handed over the bag. The Black One took it carefully, and the aria she heard was happy. She patted the air near him.

“That’s all right then,” she said, and The Black One nodded, and then turned and left out the back door, slowly fading from view. From behind her, Erika gurgled like a new desert stream, as if the rain had just begun to fall. Josie rubbed her hands over the front of her housecoat, and her stomach gurgled with hunger. It was earlier than she usually woke up, and through the open door she could see the orange sun over the desert. In the distance, the light displays from the canyon shone against the sky. They would finish in an hour or so. Every now and then someone from out of town would stumble into them, and stumble out against dazed and confused. Her house was one of the few this far out of town, and they would usually come knock on her door, looking for answers.

She touched the frame around the door, listening to the buzzing of the bees in the wood. There were no answers, except for maybe those that Erika had, but they shared only her home, not everything. She would know what they knew in time, she supposed. Although she had traveled some in her youth, and seen other places in the world, she had always come back to Night Vale. She was used to - no, comfortable with was better - questions.

The smell of porridge and the sound of water through the mouth of a coke bottle reached her, and when she turned, Erika had put some porridge on the stove for her.

“Just an old woman dreaming, eh?” Josie said, and closed the back door. The sound of water got louder, and Josie bent to the kitchen cupboard to pull out a few bowls. When it was done, she spooned the porridge out of the pot and left them, still steaming on the counter, for Erika. As she ate her own at the small table, she was not alone, surrounded by the sound of water, and opera, and bees.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Arias (I imagine) that are mentioned in this fic:
> 
>  _[Casta Diva by Bellini, sung by Maria Callas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B-9IvuEkreI)_ (the title is also from this)
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> [Largo al Factotum by Rossini](https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=71&v=TKDXr_fimQ8)  
>  _


End file.
